Of Bastards & Broken Things
by Edgar-A.-Poe
Summary: Wylda Snow is the bastard of Lord Wyman Manderly, bannerman of House Stark. As handmaiden to Queen Cersei at the beginning of the War of the Five Kings, she is in a unique position to help the North and her father's liege lord. She utilizes the cunning and intelligence inherited from her father to further the game, and steps closer to her legitimacy. M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own George R.R. Martin's great works, but Wylda is my own character. I'm not making any money off of this.

 **Author's Note:** I've been sitting on this idea for a while now, so I thought I'd give it a shot. This is my first fic in this world, so I'm hoping it'll be interesting. I love reviews. :)

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Wyman Manderly overlooked the harbor from his balcony. Already the winds were turning, forcing the sea higher up onto the weathered edges of Seal Rock, the massive stone marking the Outer Harbor of his fair city. Lord Manderly cast his eyes upon the Wolf's Den, the fortress his ancestors turned into a prison. Thankfully, its cells were mostly empty. Its few residents waited for a man of the Night's Watch Lord Manderly had summoned with a raven almost a month ago to escort them to their new home.

Many in Westoros had been deceived by the spring weather these many months. But as a Northerner, Lord Manderly knew better. His liege lord's House words rang through his mind nearly as often as his own: Winter is Coming. He could feel it deep within his bones.

 _Or perhaps you're simply growing fatter and having a harder time breathing_.

He smirked at his stray thought. There was no reason for such dark thoughts, not when the kingdom was as stable as it was. Just two years before, Prince Rhaegar had married Princess Elia Martell, and a daughter had been born within that first year, with another babe following soon.

However, at the tourney at Harrenhal some moons past, Rhaegar had crowned his liege lord's daughter, Lyanna, Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife. This still did not sit well with him, nor did it many of the Northerners. They would all much prefer the South keep to itself, including the happenings and people of King's Landing.

"My Lord."

He turned toward the voice of his steward, Ilbert.

"My Lord, there is a messenger from Harrenhal waiting at the gates."

Wyman assessed his red-faced steward with a furrowed brow. "And what is it he wants, Ilbert?"

The man pursed his lips. "He will not say, my Lord. He will only speak to Lord Manderly."

Wyman took a deep breath in through his nose before slowly letting it out. "I suppose I must see him, then."

"My apologies for the interruption, my Lord," Ilbert replied with a nod.

He gestured for Wyman to follow him, which the large man did. Perhaps he should not partake of a second helping at supper this evening.

Arriving to the gates of the castle took longer than expected at Wyman's slower pace, but Ilbert was patient as ever with him. Finally, Wyman was able to approach the gate itself and see the man who waited for him through the openings in the portcullis.

"I am Lord Manderly," he said, voice carrying despite being slightly out of breath. "What message is so important you'll have me come from my solar?"

The man turned to face him. His brown hair blew softly in the wind and his brown eyes looked him over. Though Wyman had never seen this man before in his life, the way the stranger peered at him made him believe that someone had described the Lord of White Harbor to this man.

"I've come to return to you something you left at Harrenhall, courtesy of Lord Walter Whent, my Lord Manderly," the man said as he approached the porcullis.

Wyman noticed the bundle in the man's arms and narrowed his eyes. The man's hand grasped the edge of the bundle and tugged gently, revealing the face of a sleeping babe.

Wyman felt his blood run cold all the way to his toes as he stood staring at the child through the gaps in the portcullis. His face gave away nothing to his guards and steward standing nearby.

"Lessie passed after the birthing, my Lord," the man said quietly. "She named you as father. Lord Whent has no use for a bastard in his halls."

Wyman looked upon the babe, its locks the same shade of brown as his own. Suddenly its mouth opened wide in a yawn, and when it closed once more there were the blue eyes of his sons staring at him.

His only moment of weakness in the entirety of his days met his gaze and held it. Daring him to look away. Pressuring him to speak again.

"And what would Lord Whent do should I deny the babe?"

"I'm to dash her head in against the nearest rock in front of you, my Lord, and leave her for the crows."

Wyman stared the callous brown eyes down, looking for some sense of the man behind the cold mask. The Lord of White Harbor ground his teeth together and turned to speak to his nearest guard.

"Open the gates."

The guard nodded, and his bidding was done. Within a minute, the portcullis opened enough to allow the stranger entrance. He held the babe out for Wyman to take. The large man held the tiny infant gingerly, one of his massive forearms more than enough for her to rest upon.

"Ilbert, escort this man inside and see that he is fed and given provisions for his return journey," Wyman said, looking his steward in the eye.

"Right away, my Lord. If you would follow me, please."

"One moment more, ser," Wyman said, facing the stranger.

The man gave a short bow. "Lorne, my Lord."

"Lorne," Wyman said evenly. "Do you know the date of this child's birth? Has she a name?"

"Lessie passed nearly two moons hence, my Lord. She did not give the child a name."

Wyman looked at the babe once more as the man awaited him. "Why did Lord Whent give me this choice?"

Lorne smiled. "He sent me here to receive payment for Lessie's life, my Lord. She was the best cook he had, after all. The babe was useless to him."

 _And he used the innocent to get me to listen_. It was all Wyman could do to not choke the man before him. But his carefully thought-out exterior remained neutral.

"My steward shall see you clothed and fed this evening. You shall have a place to rest under my protection this evening, and you may break your fast in my hall come the morning. Discuss with him your Lord's payment."

"Thank you, my Lord," Lorne said with a deeper bow.

Wyman touched Ilbert's shoulder as his steward went to pass him. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Whatever his first price is, take it and double it. I want no more trouble out of this man, and Lord Whent did me a service sending the girl to me."

"Yes, my Lord."

He turned to their visitor once more and beckoned him forward. Wyman looked at the child once more, who had fallen back asleep. How the man—this Lorne—had managed to keep her alive without mother's milk was not the appropriate question. He did not overly care. What mattered was this was his daughter for true. He had lain with Lessie that night after his drinks had taken away his senses. Now he must face his Lady wife. Then he had to find the girl a nurse maid.

* * *

"I cannot believe this, Wyman," Janna Manderly said even as she reached for the babe.

Her husband's words had been brief and full of remorse as he held the girl nestled in his left forearm. There was no denying it was her Wyman's child, so much did the young girl already resemble him.

She stared down at the infant as she rocked her carefully, the familiar pull of motherhood calling her once more. She flicked her gaze to look up at him, but couldn't bring herself to be angry. Her Lord husband loved children, but she had been unable to give him more than his two sons. She'd never been able to have a daughter of her own. While their son Wylis and his wife had provided them a granddaughter just this year past, Wynafryd had her own mother. This child had none.

"Has she a name?" Janna asked.

"Not as of yet," Wyman replied. "The mother—Lessie—she died before she could give more than mine own name."

There was some hurt in her heart, but Wyman had been forever doting and loving, even still in their marriage bed after all these years. If this was how the gods chose to give her a daughter, Janna would not frown upon it. Even if it would take some getting used to.

"Would you call for Frieda?"

Wyman turned to the door to call his wife's hand maiden. The woman arrived promptly, having been instructed to go to the end of the hall.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"Frieda, I need you to go into the city and find a wet nurse for this child," Janna said, looking kindly at her hand maiden. "We will pay well for discretion."

"Yes, my Lady," Frieda said with a curtsey. "I shall return within the hour."

She was gone just as quickly as she left. Janna sat in her chair and held the child carefully, still looking down upon her.

"We will need to have our son's old things found and taken back to the nursery."

Wyman approached his wife and placed a careful hand upon her shoulder. She met his gaze and smiled up at him.

"You are certain?" he asked.

"Wylda."

"Wylda Snow," Wyman said.

"Perhaps a Manderly in name as well, some day."

Wyman stared down at the girl as she continued to slumber. She would not always be this quiet, and his castle might be the better for it. Wynafryd needed a playmate to grow with while she awaited her parents' next born. His wife already warmed to her. And the feelings of pride welled up within him at the thought of what his daughter could become.

"We shall yet see," Lord Manderly whispered.


	2. The Journey to Winterfell

**Disclaimer:** Anything that sounds familiar has come from _A Game of Thrones_ by George R.R. Martin. Wylda is my own character. I don't plan on making money off of this.

 **Author's Note:** I'm going between this story and my other Harry Potter OC story, _Rebecca Felan: Journey of a Muggleborn Slytherin_. Inspiration has tugged at me for this one, so here's another chapter to keep the ball rolling. But until I get closer to finishing that other story, I'll probably be updating this one a month, just as an fyi to those who have this story on their alerts.

Thank you to those who have added this story as a favorite or an alert. It was pretty cool to see that many notifications from such a short first chapter, and I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint. Also, I love reviews! :) Hope you enjoy!

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Wylda couldn't remember the last time she had seen snow. King Robert's caravan from the capitol had passed patches of it here and there on its way to Winterfell. Each time she laid her blue eyes upon it, she smiled.

The light breeze that had plagued them throughout their time on the King's Road turned into a gust. It whipped her light brown hair violently behind her. Wylda had to pause a moment to tame it, finally tying it back with a strip of leather. She brought her hood up and hoped it would all stay in place.

The snow was the only thing making her happy about this journey thus far. They were to reach Winterfell this day, and for that Wylda was eternally grateful. As handmaiden to Queen Cersei, and the only one chosen to accompany her to their destination, she could not wait to be once more in a proper keep. It would make her duties that much easier. And she would no longer have to ride the older mare beside Cersei and her children's wheelhouse.

Despite all this, Wylda was happy to be in the North again.

It had been three years since her father had sent her to King's Landing to become the queen's handmaiden. Queen Cersei had been offended at the notion. King Robert, however, approved of his wife's vacant handmaiden position being filled by Lord Manderly's bastard. She still recalled his booming laugh in the throne room on the day she arrived. Wylda had stood before them, still a plump girl of thirteen, attempting to look meek and somewhat hopeful.

For three years, Wylda had worked to gain what little trust she could from Cersei even through the woman's scorn and criticisms about her weight and looks. She used the cover of what every bastard desired—legitimacy—as a means of ensuring the queen felt as though she had the power in their relationship. Lord Wyman had promised her legitimacy upon her eighteenth nameday regardless of where her life took her. He was certain with her in King's Landing, he would receive intelligence and ensure his daughter's application for legitimacy would be accepted. "Robert wouldn't deny you," he'd assured Wylda before she left White Harbor. "Not after you've been so good to his Lady wife."

Wylda also began to lose the weight that had not bothered her throughout her life. While Cersei's words had stung at first, she wanted to make certain the queen thought her weak minded and easily controlled. At the age of sixteen, she stood tall and curvy as opposed to plump. Wylda knew she would never be completely thin, like the queen, but that was not her aim. Surprisingly, the seemingly simple action had gotten Cersei's attention from early on and worked the way in which Wylda had surmised.

With her primary motivation fueling her with each look, step, and word, Wylda thrived far better in King's Landing than even her father could have ever hoped. When the opportunity to go North once more came about, Cersei had only one choice.

"You will attend me on our journey North, Wylda," Cersei had told her a week before they were to set out. "I'll need your leverage as a bastard of a Stark bannerman."

Wylda gave a bow of her head. "Yes, your Grace. I would be more than happy to help you in any way I can upon our arrival to Winterfell."

Cersei smirked. "As I thought you would. I need you to speak with his servants, befriend his children if possible. Robert tells me Stark's brood are all younger than you, but you're charming enough."

"Thank you, your Grace."

"I want to know what type of man we're dealing with," Cersei said after a sip of wine. "Robert means to ask him to become his Hand, and I only want the best lord for the job."

"Of course, your Grace. I'll be sure to find out everything I can about him."

With her marching orders given, Wylda prepared herself. It wouldn't be very difficult, as her father was known as a staunch loyalist to House Stark. Her name and association would be welcome, even with her heritage.

Her father had told her, however, not to expect warmth from Lady Catelyn Stark. After Robert's Rebellion fourteen years ago, Lord Eddard had brought home a bastard of his own. Lady Catelyn, her father had told her, was not very kind to this bastard named Jon. She permitted him to be raised alongside his other children in the household, but she never showed the boy kindness.

Wylda had decided she'd start with Jon Snow. After all, it wasn't every day you met a fellow bastard of noble birth, and he might be more than welcoming of her company. He might even share a little overly much.

"Eyes ahead, Lady Wylda."

Tyrion Lannister's gelding trotted up beside her mare, and the small man offered her a smile.

"You should be able to see Winterfell momentarily."

"Thank you, my Lord."

She cast her eyes forward as their horses settled into step with one another. Lord Tyrion had joined their company North, even after his sister had tried to implore Robert to not allow him. Robert had no reason to deny his queen's brother, so Cersei had spent most of the trip ignoring Tyrion.

Though she had not expected to take a liking to any of the Lannisters, Tyrion had won her over early on during her stay in King's Landing. He had approached her one evening when she had some free time to herself. Cersei was dining with Robert, which was an unusual event; but occasionally the king called for his wife.

Wylda was in the gardens, enjoying the last bit of sunlight, when Tyrion approached her. She had only seen him up close once before, when Cersei had begrudingly introduced her new handmaiden to her brother. Wylda had taken note of him then and memorized his features, as she did with everyone, but had no further opportunity to speak with him. She knew the queen's hatred for her younger brother, and with her so new at her position, she had thought it best not to upset Cersei if she could help it.

When he stood before her in the gardens, there was no one else about, which allowed her to take a better look at him. One green eye and one black stared evenly at her. She met his gaze evenly for as long as he stared. Eventually, he let out a laugh.

"Bested by a bastard girl half my age," he said with a grin.

"Not quite half your age, my Lord," she said. "I've reached my thirteenth nameday."

He gave a curt nod. "You have my pardons, my Lady."

"I'm no Lady, my Lord." She forced her eyes downward, as if she was embarrassed

"You certainly act and hold yourself as such. And you do a great deal to annoy my lovely sister. Moreover, you're not afraid of me. You are more so a Lady than many who call themselves such in King's Landing."

He had smiled at her then, turned around, and walked away in his strange gait. After that, Wylda had often found herself speaking with the so-called Imp during her free time on any number of subjects.

Tyrion saw past the countenance she put on as a lowly handmaiden. He did not, however, tell his sister of her intelligence and cunning. They were unspoken allies from that moment onward, though on this trip he had still been careful to not let it be known he was overly friendly toward her. Their conversations had been brief for the most part.

As Tyrion had said, Wylda was able to see the turrets of the great castle just over the next hill.

"Thank the gods," she said quietly.

Tyrion smiled at the young girl. "This is where I must leave you, my Lady," he said with a snap of his reins. "I'm expected at the front."

His horse took off at a canter toward the front, where his brother Ser Jaime, nephew Prince Joffrey, and King Robert rode along with his guards. Her eyes passed over Sandor Clegane, who rode near the prince. Quickly, she looked away. The man did not like her staring, and she did not trust him over much.

Wylda pulled back on her reins so the mare would fall behind the queen's wheelhouse. And it was there she plodded along until Winterfell came fully into sight. She schooled her features into a neutral expression even as they entered the courtyard.

She stayed beside the wheelhouse as it came to a halt and began her dismount so that she could assist the queen and her younger children. Just ahead, she saw King Robert dismount as quickly as his girth allowed him. He crushed the Lord of Winterfell, a dark, sombre-looking man thick of shoulder, in a familiar embrace. Lord Eddard's shocked expression made Wylda smirk.

Ser Jaime, his golden hair and green eyes identical to his twin's, came up beside the haidmaiden. He motioned for her to open the door, which Wylda did. Cersei was already waiting, head held high. She accepted her brother's offered hand and stepped into the dirt and mud of the courtyard.

Cersei's eyes assessed her surroundings quickly as she waited for Wylda to help Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen from the wheelhouse. Once they were situated beside their mother, Cersei gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Wylda stood between and just behind the children, ushering them gently forward as their mother walked toward her husband and their hosts. Ser Jaime waited beside the wheelhouse a moment longer before Wylda heard him follow. He was never too far from his twin sister.

Prince Joffrey approached them, coming up beside his mother and holding his arm out for her. Wylda narrowed her eyes momentarily at the prince three years her junior, watching him carefully as his mother placed her hand upon his forearm.

She quickly remembered her objective and looked over the rest of the Stark family as her party approached, naming them as she went down the line in which they stood. There was Lady Catelyn, formerly a Tully, with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, whom Robert was embracing similarly to how he greeted Lord Stark.

Beside her was the eldest son, Robb, who had seen fourteen name days. He favoured his mother's appearance, with his thick red-brown hair and blue eyes. However, he had the stocky build of his father. He held himself to full height as the king began assessing him.

Next was Sansa, her hair and eyes as glistening as her mother's, and very beautiful already at the age of eleven. Already she was smiling politely and batting her eyelashes at King Robert.

Arya, age nine, was a true Stark in appearance. Wylda also remembered her father's last letter that let her know the Stark sisters were night and day in personality as well as features. She could tell from the way her clothing hung from her, as if hastily thrown on at the last moment.

Queen Cersei finally stood before the Starks and was greeting them in turn as all began admiring and praising the children. Wylda glanced at the youngest Starks.

There was Bran, seven, and another Tully in his look. Small and limber, and an avid climber, her father had told her.

Baby Rickon, who had only seen three name days, held Bran's hand and glared at the ground. There would be nothing gained from speaking to the boy, except perhaps to get into the good graces of the other siblings.

But where was Jon Snow?

"And this is my handmaiden, Wylda."

Cersei's voice made her eyes snap forward and courtsey as her name was said. She had practised so much that seeming as though she was paying attention was second nature.

Lord Stark gave her a long look. "Lord Wyman's daughter."

"Yes, my Lord—his bastard," Wylda said, nodding once and looking up to meet his gaze. She smiled. "It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance, Lord and Lady Stark, as well as your children's."

Wylda saw Cersei looking over her shoulder toward her. Her eyes quickly flashed her approval before turning her attention toward their hosts once more. The next instant saw Lady Stark looking her up and down slowly. Almost imperceptibly, the great Lady of Winterfell took a step back from her. Wylda would gain nothing from attempting to get into her confidence.

"Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects," Robert said, placing a hand on Stark's shoulder.

"Your Grace, we have been riding since dawn," Cersei said immediately, taking a step toward her husband. "Your children and I are tired and cold from our journey. Surely you would like for us all to refresh ourselves first. The dead will wait."

Robert turned slowly to look at her. Ser Jaime, standing unobtrusively behind Wylda without needing introduction, stepped forward and took his sister gently by the arm. Robert and Eddard turned from the others and made their way toward the other side of the courtyard. Lady Catelyn faced Cersei.

"Your Grace, please allow my steward and castellan to show you and your children to your rooms." She smiled pleasantly enough, though Wylda saw the sudden strain in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She had not anticipated that her husband would leave her so suddenly in the company of strangers.

"You're very kind, Lady Catelyn," Cersei replied.

A stout man, broad of shoulder, and with large, white whiskers stepped toward Lady Catelyn, then continued past her and bowed before the queen.

"Ser Roderick Cassel, your Grace," he said. "If it please your Grace, I will take you to the rooms you will share with his Grace for your stay."

"A moment, Ser," Cersei said quickly. She turned toward her handmaiden. "Wylda, make certain the children are settled in before you come to see me."

"Yes, your Grace." She bowed her head.

Cersei and her brother set off to follow Ser Cassel, leaving Wylda with the Starks and Baratheon children. Joffrey's brows furrowed as he looked her over. She did her best to ignore him, then found her attention drawn by another man approaching. He was older, with thinning hair and a kindly face.

He bowed before them. "Vayon Poole at your service, your royal highnesses. I will take you to your rooms for your stay here at Winterfell."

"Will we be near Mother?" Tommen asked.

Joffrey scoffed, but quickly looked away. Wylda knew his mother had told him to be on his best behaviour in front of their hosts.

"Yes, your highness," Poole responded with a smile. "Your mother and father will be right down the corridor from your rooms. Lady Stark has seen to this."

Tommen looked up at Wylda, who nodded encouragingly. The little prince took her hand.

"Thank you, Steward," Joffrey said finally. "Please show us the way."

As Vayon Poole led them from the courtyard, movement to her left caught Wylda's attention. She turned her head slightly and got a look of a boy just younger than her who looked much like a younger version of Lord Eddard Stark. Dark brown hair fell before his face in curls, nearly covering the grey eyes that stared openly at her.

Wylda smiled at the boy she now knew as Jon Snow. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, though she only held it for two or three moments. Then, Tommen tugged on her hand, and she looked away. Doting on the youngest prince was a favoured activity, as he was sweet and sometimes needed the extra attention his mother could not provide.

A plan began to form in her head as the steward led them into the entryway of Winterfell. Tonight, she would seek out Jon. It would not be difficult. His position in the crowd and not with the other Stark children indicated he was likely to sit with others at the feast scheduled for this evening. She would seek him out then.

With a plan in place, she felt herself reassured. She would be able to brief Cersei of her plan after ensuring the children were settled. She would then deliver an edited version of her talk with Jon as she assisted the queen in getting ready for bed that evening. This would also allow her to begin to foster relationships with the Starks. A bastard needed to have as many plans as she could handle to keep herself afloat.


	3. A Meeting of the Bastards

**Disclaimer:** Anything that sounds familiar has come from _A Game of Thrones_ by George R.R. Martin. Wylda is my own character. I don't plan on making money off of this.

 **Author's Note:** I'm glad that so many people already seem to be enjoying this story. It gives me hope that I'm doing something right.

I love reviews!

* * *

The corners of the Great Hall of Winterfell provided the perfect opportunity for Wylda to become accustomed to her surroundings. She liked knowing the different escape routes she could take from a place, always wanting to have a plan for every interaction. It also allowed her to enjoy the opening festivities without being in the way, while still observing most of the people she was interested in.

Jon Snow sat in the back, in the benches with those in service at Winterfell. Wylda had been surprised to see the wolf at his feet among the dogs. The white beast paced about underneath the table, its fur a harsh white and its bloody red eyes taking in its surroundings. It didn't make a sound.

Unnerving, possibly threatening. And maybe that was what the wolf wanted people to think of it, but Jon seemed to have no trouble with it. Wylda decided she would not be frightened by such a creature, not as long as he held sway over it. She cast her eye at the raised dias in the front of the hall.

Robb and Myrcella had walked in together, and were now seated beside one another. The elder boy was doing well at entertaining her little princess, who was currently giggling at something he had said. Wylda let the smile come slowly to her face.

Sansa, on the other hand, Wylda did not envy, being sat near Joffery. The prince was in good form this evening, however. No doubt he had heeded Cersei's earlier words. Behind them stood the Hound, never far from the heir to the Iron Throne.

Tommen sat between Bran and Arya, the latter looking positively bored with her predicament. Bran, on the other hand, appeared to have little issue speaking with the littest prince. The two were nearly of an age, so this did not surprise Wylda. She would have to ask Tommen after a few days into their stay what she made of Bran.

For now, her eyes were set upon Jon as she took her first step out into the crowd of the hall. Afterwards, she would attempt to speak with Robb and Sansa. If she had time, she would speak more with Arya, if for no other reason than the girl seemed interesting.

The bench beside Ned Stark's bastard was empty. Glancing on either end of the table saw that it was somewhat on purpose, but not because those around were opposed to Jon being at the table. It was deferential in its feeling and allowed her space enough to speak with him without their being overheard. And, since it had already been an hour into the feast, the other men at the table were certain to be into their cups enough that they wouldn't pay any mind to her.

She wore her finest gown tonight, a dark red colour that pleased Cersei, particularly when she paired it with a simple chain of gold her father had given her on her tenth name day. Her hand reached for the strip of leather attached to the small wineskin that encircled her. She'd found Tyrion early enough to ask to use some of his personal wine as a way to break into the nervous, perhaps shy exterior she noticed her fellow bastard had. Tyrion had been amused with her plan, and even awarded her with the wineskin to make it a bit easier on her.

"Perhaps you'd like something a bit stronger," Wylda said, smiling as she stood beside Jon Snow.

The curls upon his head bounced as he looked up quickly. Wylda held up the wineskin.

"My only condition is that you share a few moments of conversation with me over a cup."

"You were with the queen," Jon said, eyes looking over her carefully as he spoke.

"I'm her handmaiden. Wylda Snow, Lord Manderly's bastard."

Jon was silent, then motioned for her to sit. Wylda nodded her thanks and took a seat on the bench, far enough to give him room enough to not feel as though she was crowding him.

"Not every day I meet another bastard," Jon said, pushing his flagon toward her.

Wylda filled his cup and smirked. "Not sure you've met any other bastard this far up North."

She saw his brief smile as she finished filling his flagon. Wylda filled one for herself as well before she capped the wineskin and looped it about her once more. She then held up the flagon just above the table as she faced him.

Jon lightly touched his own flagon to hers, and they both drank deeply before setting them down. Wylda pondered him for a moment.

"My father was right about you."

Black brows furrowed.

"You're far more Northern than any of your siblings, barring your sister Arya."

"Half-sister," Jon said. He tipped the cup back and drank again.

She allowed him a moment after he put the flagon down upon the table, both hands cupping it. His face was difficult to read, so she knew he was holding back even after knowing who her father was.

"How did you come to be the queen's hand maiden?" he finally asked.

"My father thought it might be a good idea," Wylda said with a shrug. "King Robert allowed Lord Manderly his litte joke at his wife's expense." She smirked.

Jon's own lips curved upward into a tiny smile. "From what my father says of yours, that sounds about right."

"It is rather good to be among Northerners again," Wylda said, then took another drink of wine. "King's Landing has a way of wearing a person down."

"Is that why you sought me out? Because I'm more Northern?"

"I wanted to see what you were like. I knew the man you were named after, Lord Arryn."

"Lord Stark was his ward, along with the king."

Wylda nodded. "Lord Arryn was Hand of the King until his sudden passing."

She watched as Jon peered at those seated at the table in the front of the hall. His eyes twinkled in the light. His mind was slowly turning as to why the group from King's Landing was here, and possibly why she was speaking to him.

Good, he was reasonably intelligent, too. Already she liked him.

"Who's your friend?" Wylda asked, nodding to the white snout appearing suddenly between them.

Jon snapped back to attention. "This is Ghost, my direwolf pup."

"Direwolf?" Wylda raised an eyebrow as she looked at the creature.

Certainly it was almost as large as a fully-grown wolf, though now that she paid it closer attention, it still had the puppy look about its ears and paws.

"Is he friendly?" she asked, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

"Ghost, sit. Stay."

The wolf pup obeyed, and Jon gave him a pet between his ears. Wylda followed his lead, gently stroking the furry cheek and then down his chest. His heart beat purposefully against her hand, and she suddenly found herself smiling.

"He's beautiful," she said quietly.

The wolf pup turned his head and stared at her with knowing eyes. Wylda's hand paused momentarily on his shoulder before she brought it up slowly toward his head. Ghost turned so that she had easier access to ear. She chuckled as she scratched gently behind it, the wolf looking pleased.

"He and his siblings don't usually take so kindly to strangers," Jon said, looking at her suddenly.

"So you have more?"

"Not all mine. One for each of my half-siblings."

"He must know where I hail from. Glad to know I haven't got the stink of King's Landing on me even after three years."

She gave Ghost a final pat before she turned back to her wine. Jon did the same, though she could sense him watching her more carefully now. Ghost lay down, opening up the space on the bench between them.

Wylda turned toward him, moving a couple of inches down the bench as she did.

"The king is here to ask your father to be his new Hand."

Jon's eyes widened, but he tried to glance away to hide the fact.

"Do you think Lord Stark would say yes?" Wylda asked, cocking her head to the side.

"I'm not certain," Jon replied, shaking his head. He took a hasty drink of wine.

"If he does, you should consider asking him if he would take you to King's Landing with him."

Jon set the flagon down heavily as he looked at her.

"A bastard can make himself into anything there. To be honest, I'd appreciate the company as well. I think we're very alike, you and I."

She smiled. A flush came over Jon's face as his eyes focused on the table.

Wylda paused. "Unless you already had some other notion?"

She could see his hesitation in the tenseness of his shoulders. But he nodded.

"I've been considering taking the Black."

"A noble cause, if a bit cold and thankless," Wylda said. "You've seen fourteen name days?" She took another drink.

"Yes." He finally allowed himself to look her way once more.

"What does your Lord father say?"

"That I am very young to be making such a decision."

Wylda couldn't help but think that Lord Eddard was right, but Jon seemed disappointed by his father's answer, if his slightly drooped shoulders were any indication.

"Does he normally offer you sage advice?" Wylda asked.

"He does. He's very level-headed and noble."

"His advice, to me, seems to stem from his love for you, as well," Wylda said quietly. "I think he knows that your desire to join the Night's Watch is a fine goal to have, but he worries for you, much like my father worried about whether sending me to King's Landing was the right decision."

"Does he still worry?"

Wylda nodded. She drained what wine remained in her flagon before responding.

"I am glad our Lord fathers sound so alike. I find it comforting," she said. "Though it does make me wonder what might have been had the two of us been legitimate."

He flushed again, and Wylda rather liked seeing the way his jaw tightened as she toyed with features were already taking a turn toward ruggedness, though he had yet a boyish face. In a year or two he would look more a man grown. And she hadn't been completely lying that his company in King's Landing would be welcomed. He seemed as though his heart was set, she thought with an internal sigh.

"A word of advice, from one bastard to another, if you'll take it," she said, leaning forward.

He carefully lifted his face, brows raised.

"Kiss someone before you leave for the Night's Watch."

She grinned and leaned back, taking in his momentarily stunned expression. Wylda gathered her skirts so that she could take her leave of him.

"Is that an offer?"

His voice was so small, and he wasn't facing her, so she was not entirely certain he'd even spoken. But when she looked up, his face was barely turned toward hers, though his eyes were cast down at the bench between them.

"Take it how you'd like, Jon Snow," Wylda said. "I'm here for a few days yet."

She turned so that her legs could swing out from underneath the table. Wylda stood tall, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you for sharing wine and conversation with me. Don't be so shy next time."

With a wink, she left him. Wylda kept toward the edges of the hall, stealing a glance at the high table every few seconds. But neither Cersei nor any of the children paid her any mind. Lady Catelyn, on the other hand, watched her now. Wylda wondered if she had seen her speaking with Jon or if she simply watched her now.

Lady Stark's impressive gaze made Wylda move faster, and she was soon in the corridor leading back to the king and queen's suite of rooms. She leaned against the cool castle walls to allow herself to catch her breath.

"Wylda."

The sharp voice made her turn to face the queen, whose eyes swiftly found and stopped at the wine skin that still hung from its leather strap. Quickly, Wylda courtsied.

"Your Grace."

Cersei stepped closer, hands clasped loosely before her stomach. "The king has allowed the children to stay longer at the feast," she said, "but I am tired from our journey. I'm lucky to have found you. My dress is cumbersome to take off on my own."

Her words were not unkind, but there was a stiffness to them that Wylda recognized. The king must have angered her somehow. Most likely he was drunk already and crossed her.

"Of course, your Grace. My apologies for not seeking you out in the hall."

Cersei said nothing, stepping forward through the corridor and leading the way to her suite of rooms she would share with the king during their stay in Winterfell. Wylda remained silent and observant throughout the journey, though they encountered no one else.

When she shut the door behind the two of them, Cersei was already removing her jewelry. Wylda rushed to take the fine pieces from the queen.

"I saw you speaking with Stark's bastard."

"Yes. I'm earning his trust, your Grace."

Cersei gave a little nod as Wylda turned from putting away her jewels. She turned so that her hand maiden could begin to unlace her dress.

"What did you speak of?"

"Our fathers, our likenesses... He and his father seem close enough, despite his being a bastard."

Wylda's fingers made quick work of the lacing.

"Did you use the tactics we discussed?" Cersei asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, your Grace. He blushes readily. I don't believe there are many girls his age here, especially none who are like him."

She saw Cersei smirk. "What else did he do besides blush?"

"I believe he's interested in speaking with me more," Wylda replied, getting toward the end of the lacing.

The dress was easy to remove after that. Once it was off, Cersei gave her a curt nod.

"See that you continue after him," she said. "Even if you have to ply him with more of Tyrion's wine."

Wylda paused, uncertain of Cersei's tone. The queen turned to face her, looking regal even in nothing but her shift and underclothes.

"He doesn't know you took it from him."

"No, your Grace."

Cersei smirked, a wicked look Wylda had become accustomed to. "Good."

The queen turned from her, and Wylda took the opportunity to put the dress carefully away. She retrieved Cersei's sleeping gown, setting it on the bed momentarily so she could get the queen's shift next.

"I want you to speak to the eldest daughter, Lady Sansa, next," Cersei said, looking directly ahead. "It appears as though the king has a mind to marry her to my Joffery."

Wylda raised her eyebrows, as would be appropriate.

"I'll make sure she's good enough for the prince, your Grace."

"No one will ever be good enough for my first born."

"Then compliant, at least, your Grace. A good match."

"She seems simple minded, but already dotes on him," Cersei said, her voice low as Wylda helped her into her sleeping gown. "The more foolish, the better, perhaps."

Wylda decided silence was the best response, and put away the shift in its appropriate place with the rest of the queen's clothing.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, your Grace?"

"Make certain the children get to bed at a reasonable hour, even the prince," Cersei replied, turning around to face her. "What you do with the remainder of your time tonight should be spent wisely."

"Yes, your Grace. Good night."

Cersei didn't respond, so Wylda quickly left the room. As soon as she was on the other side of the door, she let out a little sigh. Being around Cersei always brought tension between her shoulder blades, made her stand straighter and speak with extreme politeness.

All of this had led Cersei to believe her to be pliable, easily overpowered, and overall obedient. Wylda didn't do anything to make her think otherwise, which is why she gave her enough of the truth to keep her interested. Already she knew the danger to Cersei of Lord Eddard Stark becoming Hand of the King. Where she was all cunning and brute shows of power, Lord Stark was honest and honor-bound.

He would discover the queen's truth, though perhaps not as easily as Wylda had. It would be her downfall.

Wylda walked the way she and the queen had come just minutes before, making her way back toward the Great Hall. She paused a moment at the top of the stone stairs.

Lord Stark might be in more danger from Cersei than the other way around, particularly once they reached King's Landing. The best way to protect him would be to try and convince him to not accept King Robert's proposition.

She made her way down the stairs, wondering how best to accomplish her new task. A raven to her father might not be remiss. A visit to the Maester tomorrow, when she had the earliest chance, would be best. Tonight she had a coded message to write.


End file.
